Woohoo! I now reach Chapter 6. I really liked the last chapter, and I hope you did too. Now. Let's get on with it.
Chapter 6 (I really can't believe I've gotten this far!)Notes:
1) Some mush. Annoying but necessary.
2) Some bad language. Neither of the above.
3) I'm not a doctor and if I get any medical details wrong it is inadvertently. Don't get annoyed if some little details are wrong.
"Hey, Trapper!"
Trapper turned around to be greeted by a slightly angry Hawkeye.
"What's Frank in there for? He's a doctor, not a patient! Are you letting him-"
"Hawkeye! Shhhh! Frank's been diagnosed with severe gastroenteritis. He's to be left in peace; the last thing he needs is to be getting nervous." Trapper peeked through the door to Frank's bed. He sighted Frank sitting up, tears streaming down his face.
"Oh, shit a brick," muttered Trapper. "Hawkeye, could you get Major Houlihan for me?"
Hawkeye turned to fetch Margaret. It was her job to dispense kind words and support, and Trapper's to dispense medicines.
Barely seconds later had Hawkeye returned with Margaret in tow. She hardly took a look through the door before rushing though the door to again comfort Frank. The two doctors simultaneously grimaced.
"You'd think she could leave him alone to sulk for one second, just one, but no! She's there in a flash!" remarked Trapper.
"Hey, you're the one who called for her," Hawkeye pointed out.
"I wanted to speak with her, not watch her comfort Ferret Face."
A pause. Hawkeye took a deep sigh.
"Trapper, did anything else happen yesterday after… O.R.?" he asked. Hawkeye had a sneaking suspicion there was something he wasn't being told. Logic told him that Frank could not have suddenly ended up in Post-Op with gastroenteritis. Trapper was hiding something from him.
Trapper had not looked forward to this question. Though he'd realised it would be asked eventually, he was at a loss as to how it should be answered. He decided that honesty was the best policy and prepared himself to deal with it later.
"Yeah, actually, a few things."
"Like what?" Hawkeye asked inquisitively.
"Well, firstly Radar found you sleeptalking to me in the latrine at three in the morning-"
Hawkeye was shocked; he hadn't expected this. "What? Me? Sleeptalking? You gotta…" He trailed off when he realised Trapper was deadly serious, even a tad angry.
"-and then some nurses found Frank unconscious with vomit all around him a few hours later. We don't know how he got there, but he had a high fever and apparently a lot of stomach pain. So there. You're filled in." finished Trapper.
"Did I do that too in my sleep?" half-joked Hawkeye. He was met with one of the iciest glares he'd ever seen from Trapper.
"You should be thankful Radar found you, goodness knows what else you would have done…"
"Attention all personnel. Attention. Incoming wounded. Incoming wounded. Both shifts report to surgery on the double."
Trapper barely had time to finish his sentence when Hawkeye rushed out the door to greet the incoming patients. He quickly followed suit.
Once again Hawkeye was operating, along with his fellow surgeons. Trapper hadn't even bothered offering advice of a rest from surgery; he knew it would be thoroughly ignored. Frank was still too sick to operate so Radar was calling I-Corps to find a replacement, thus far without success.
The O.R. session dragged on. As Hawkeye and Trapper had no one to antagonise, and having to take on Frank's work, they kept quiet and to themselves. Henry once remarked to them that it was a welcome change, but another icy glare from Trapper soon quietened him.
Fourteen hours and counting. The huge load was beginning to take its toll.
"Klinger!" yelled Trapper. "How many patients are there left?"
"Eight," came the reply from Pre-Op. Once again, Trapper muttered some choice oaths even Hawkeye would blush at.
Clang. Hawkeye suddenly gripped onto the edge of the table for support. Trapper looked over.
"You right there, Hawk?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.
In his usual brusque manner, Hawkeye replied, "Yeah, I'm fine, no worries."
The work continued. However, a few minutes later, another clang could be heard; this one louder and stronger.
"Hawkeye, are you sure that-"
Thunk. Without warning or so much as a shriek, Hawkeye Pierce's legs buckled and he fell to the floor. Trapper was there in an instant.
"Holy shit, Hawkeye, not again…" He felt for his pulse. There was none.
Henry Blake rushed over to find Trapper doing CPR on Hawkeye in the small space between operating tables.
"Defibrillation!"
"Doctor, they won't reach."
"I don't care! Make them reach!" yelled Trapper, startling Henry.
The poor nurse somehow got the two metal plates to reach the floor.
"Three, two, one, CLEAR!"
Zzzzzt. The plates buzzed. Hawkeye's body involuntarily jumped at the current, but went limp immediately afterwards.
"Dammit. Again! Three, two, one, CLEAR!"
Zzzzzt. The plates buzzed. This time, Hawkeye's body jumped, but didn't go limp.
Trapper once more felt for his pulse. It was weak and unstable, but there.
"Right, he's got a pulse, now-"
"Someone get Klinger to-"
"I brought a stretcher, sir." Klinger appeared at the door.
"Dammit, Klinger you're pulling a Radar on me… get that stretcher here NOW!"
Klinger brought over the stretcher and helped Henry and Trapper lift up Hawkeye onto it, and into Post-Op. They laid him on the ground next to Frank's bed, there being no other space due to their deluge of casualties. Henry rushed back into O.R. Trapper continued trying to revive him.
Frank, who had been quietly reading a book, jumped at this sudden intrusion. He looked up and then down to see Hawkeye lying at his bedside.
"McIntyre!" he hissed. "What the hell is going on?"
Without even looking up Trapper replied, "Hawkeye's fainted in O.R.-"
"Again!"
"-and I'm putting him here to recuperate. You give him grief and I give you hell."
Frank could only stare open-mouthed as Trapper rushed back out the door. His constitution was so delicate that even the slightest intrusion could have serious knock-on effects. Even then Frank felt the pain run through his stomach, and he clutched it instinctively.
"Henry?"
A small murmur issued from beside Frank's bed. Feeling thoroughly irritated at this point, Frank looked down. Hawkeye seemed to still be unconscious, or at most asleep; his eyes were shut tight and his body lay still.
"Shush, Pierce." muttered Frank.
"Henry? Henry, are you there?"
"No, he's not. Quieten down, Pierce," whispered Frank, in an annoyed tone. The last thing he needed or wanted was Hawkeye talking in his sleep.
"But I-I can see him, he's there, come back Henry." Hawkeye didn't stir, save for his lips which moved more softly than Frank had ever seen.
"Look, Pierce, Blake is not here and won't be here for some time. Now shush already." Frank settled himself back in bed and picked up his book.
"But Henry… don't touch those…"
Frank stopped and leaned over again, keeping himself together as the pain seared through him.
"Don't touch what, Pierce?"
"Henry… don't touch those… no… Henry… Trapper… Frank…"
All of a sudden Frank sat up straight. His blood ran cold. His stomach was scorched with pain. A hideous mix of fire and ice danced inside him. At first he couldn't place it. Something awakened inside him, but he didn't know what; the memory remained just out of reach. There was more to it than the mere utterance of his name. How could this happen? How could these (seemingly) innocent utterings of a madman unconscious provoke such a reaction, unknown to all but him?
Frank decided to leave the matter for now and return to reading his book… but it niggled away inside of him. The fire in his stomach ate away at him. There was something there… something he was forgetting… but what was it? What was this sudden deluge of memory being held back by mental floodgates?
"Uuuuuurgh…" Frank involuntarily moaned with pain. He slid down his cot, book next to him. The venom persisted inside, draining his energy away. Finally he hadn't the strength to keep his eyes open.
Frank closed his eyes; his body went limp. The fire raged on.
Trapper paced up and down the Swamp, carefully avoiding trampling anything breakable. That O.R. session had been one of his worst; with two surgeons out of action, the seemingly endless stream of patients seemed just that little bit longer. After checking on the ill doctors (Hawkeye with a pulse and breathing, but still unconscious; Frank white as a sheet and sicker than ever) he'd headed straight for the Swamp and poured himself the biggest martini he'd had in a long time. He'd been too out of it to notice Radar slip past him into the Swamp and hold his glass.
"Radar, I just don't get it. This place is going to the dogs. Hawkeye's delirious and Frank's an inch away from death. What the hell happened?" He threw his arms in the air in desperation. "God help us if we get any more casualties."
Radar stared at Trapper, being unable to think of anything to say. He hadn't been in the O.R. or Post-Op. He felt a bit out of the loop, but he was willing to listen to whatever Trapper happened to say.
"Right. That's it, Radar," stated Trapper suddenly, jolting Radar awake.
"Er, what's it, sir?" asked Radar.
"You and I are going to find out who the hell did this." Trapper proclaimed.
"Did what, sir?"
Trapper's shoulders slumped and he turned to Radar, glaring. "Made Hawkeye and Frank so sick!"
Radar involuntarily shrank back at Trapper's icy stare, not unlike the one he had given to Hawkeye earlier on. Earlier on… it seemed like eons ago to Trapper. It had been only yesterday they'd all been sitting in the mess tent, "enjoying" the "food" that Igor so outstandingly prepared. Now two doctors were sick and the 4077th was in a state of organised chaos.
Hang on… food… chaos…
"That's it!"
If you've followed this story, you can probably guess at what's coming next... :D There you have it! The Only-Half-as-Big-as-the-Last-Chapter-but-Still-Big Chapter 6! Reckoned it was time to bring in a little more plot, otherwise this is going to drag on for ages… Read and review! Don't forget, you gotta write 'em to get 'em. Chapter 7 coming soon!